


Forgotten

by Uozumi



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2332211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uozumi/pseuds/Uozumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm’s biggest secret returns thirty-five years later. Jamie figures it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> **Title** _Forgotten_  
>  **Author** Uozumi **Fandom** _The Thick of It_  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** Jamie MacDonald, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Jamie  
>  **Genre** Drama/Established Relationship/Slash  
>  **Rating** PG-13 (R for language)  
>  **Word Count** 1,512  
>  **Disclaimer** The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC  
>  **Summary** Malcolm’s biggest secret returns thirty-five years later. Jamie figures it out.  
>  **Warning(s)** blood, death, potential spoilers for all series and specials of _The Thick of It_  
>  **Notes** I was telling a friend that I really wanted to write some TTOI fic and then I accidentally this plot. I’ll be honest that the fic should probably be ten times as long as it is, but I’m very, very busy IRL. I needed a fic break for my brain, but I couldn’t let it take over my free time completely.

**_Forgotten_ **

It was eleven years since Malcolm and Jamie started living together and sixteen years since they met. Last year Jamie left politics and now worked communications for a firm in London. Nothing seemed to slow down since the last prime minister’s dramatic exit.

Jamie came home late after meetings went longer than expected. Malcolm, for once, was home before Jamie and stretched out on the sofa with the news playing quietly. Jamie set his things down at the door, hung up his coat, and then got onto the sofa, draping himself over Malcolm. Malcolm grunted slightly but let Jamie get comfortable. They did not speak. Jamie closed his eyes. He opened his eyes again when he heard the breaking news sound clip on the television. 

“It’s a mystery that’s haunted Glasgow for thirty-five years,” the news reporter said. “In the autumn of 1973, two fourteen-year-old boys disappeared without a trace.” 

Malcolm turned the television off just before the photos of the teenagers could appear. 

“I was watching that,” Jamie said. 

“You were falling asleep,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie opened his mouth to protest but he yawned instead. “Fuck.” It was a long day and tomorrow promised to be longer for both of them. Jamie rolled off Malcolm and offered him a hand up from the sofa. 

The next day, Jamie fielded e-mails from his siblings throughout the day asking if he saw the news. Jamie spent his lunch break eating while watching the latest developments. Jamie helped search for the boys at the time. 

When the boys disappeared, Jamie was nine and it was the first major news story he noticed. The two teenagers were David and John, who attended a secondary school in the city. David was a problem child from a wealthy family, who doted on the boy. There was a hefty reward for information leading to his return even to this day. John’s parents worked multiple jobs while industry began to go stagnate in Glasgow. His parents were rarely home and his older sister had not lived with them since John was five and she was eighteen. Some classmates claimed David and John were friends while others said they did not get on in the slightest. The boys were last seen leaving school one evening, but no one was certain if they disappeared together or independently of one another.

Yesterday, while transforming a thirty-year-old car park into an office building, workers discovered a skeleton underground clothed in the school uniform that the missing boys wore. ID in the trouser pockets identified the skeleton as David. The construction work stopped so forensic teams could scour the area for John’s body. Some reporters tracked down John’s sister, who was now in her early sixties. She had her grandson by the hand and said, “I’ve mourned my brother and moved on with my life. If there’s a body, they will find it. If he’s alive and doesn’t want to be found, that’s his business.” 

Jamie finished his sandwich. The broadcast ended with a photo of John and David with some other boys provided by a friend at the time. It was one of the few photos of John from 1973 anyone had besides the class photo. He was tall and thin with wild hair and a withdrawn look in his eyes. There was something familiar about John, but Jamie could not place it. He reasoned it was because the photo circulated widely when the boys disappeared decades ago. 

It was Sunday. There was still no second body. Jamie returned from church. Malcolm was still in bed. Sunday was one of the few days either of them had obligations unless something went catastrophically wrong where they worked. Jamie felt Malcolm’s eyes on him while he changed out of the clothes he wore to church and into something suitable for being lazy. Jamie sat at the foot of the bed and let his legs stretch out. Malcolm sat at the head with a book in his lap. Jamie tilted his head. He almost forgot that Malcolm broke his nose. It happened twelve years ago when Malcolm still wrote for a political magazine. 

Jamie tried to remember what Malcolm’s nose used to look like. He licked his lips. “Fuck.” 

Malcolm frowned. “Don’t look at my face and say, ‘fuck,’ like that.” 

“I didn’t fucking realize…” Jamie’s voice trailed. He moved closer and really looked at Malcolm. Jamie’s thoughts moved rapidly. Malcolm was not a very open person, but he told Jamie bits and pieces of his past over the years. Jamie knew Malcolm had an estranged older sister. He knew Malcolm’s parents worked multiple factory jobs and Malcolm grew up on his own, neglected by his parents and his sister. Jamie also knew what Malcolm looked like with longer, darker hair. Jamie tilted Malcolm’s chin upwards, guiding Malcolm’s head into a certain angle to match the angle in the photo. 

“Whatever you think you see, you don’t,” Malcolm said. He moved Jamie’s hand away. 

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. 

“I’m what you’ve always known me to be,” Malcolm said firmly. 

Jamie sat back, put his chin on his hand, and his elbow on his knee. “You look like him. You look just like that cunt I helped look for.” 

“But, I’m not,” Malcolm said. “He’s not me.” 

Jamie held Malcolm’s gaze. He bit his tongue. For a moment, he honestly believed that photo circulating was of a young Malcolm. Now he was uncertain. “His story sounds like yours.”

“A lot of people’s stories sound like mine,” Malcolm said. “An entire generation in that part of Glasgow sounds the same.”

Jamie nodded. He ran a hand through his hair. “If it is you, you know me well enough to know what I’ll do with that information,” Jamie said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Malcolm said. He moved forward to slide his fingertips up Jamie’s arm and along Jamie’s hand. He tugged Jamie closer. “It’s Sunday. Let’s not fuck it up.”

It was Monday, a week later, when police announced that they determined David’s death to be a homicide. They had no evidence of John’s body. With some additional photos provided by John’s sister, the police aged John’s face up and made him look about fifty years old. They put some grey in his hair and logical wrinkles on his face. The composite was on the news. What was left of David’s family wanted answers, and hoped that if John was alive, he could tell them what happened to their brother. 

Jamie stared at the composite. The composite looked strikingly like Malcolm if Malcolm grew his hair out and never broke his nose. What set the composite apart from Malcolm was the lack of passion and intensity in the eyes. They were sullen like the photo everyone knew of John. Jamie looked at his mobile. He licked his lips and bit his tongue. He picked up his mobile and paused. Jamie decided not to text. He took a photo of his computer screen, careful only the composite sketch was visible. He sent it to Malcolm without additional comment. Jamie received no response. 

When Jamie arrived home that night, he found Malcolm upstairs changing. Malcolm held Jamie’s gaze a moment and then hung up his jacket. “I saw the picture,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie sat on the bed and watched Malcolm change. “I know it’s you,” Jamie said. 

“It’s not me,” Malcolm said. After a pause, he clarified, “It was me. I’m not that person now.” 

Jamie ran his hands through his hair. He looked at Malcolm. “They think someone murdered the kid they found.” 

“I didn’t murder him,” Malcolm said. “I didn’t fucking touch him!” Malcolm shouted before he took a step back and another deep breath. Malcolm pulled his fleece over his shirt and adjusted the collar. “I knelt down and he died,” Malcolm said quietly. “He bled out. I found him when he was barely alive. Whatever bastard killed him must have gone back and buried him.” 

Jamie licked his lips. He did not know what to say. He watched Malcolm. “What are you going to do when they figure you out?”

Malcolm smoothed out the fabric of his fleece. “I don’t know,” Malcolm said. He sat on the bed beside Jamie. After a long silence, Malcolm said, “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Jamie asked. He let the side of his leg rest against the side of Malcolm’s leg. 

“Not calling me anything but Malcolm,” Malcolm said. 

“That’s your name,” Jamie said. He slid his fingers along Malcolm’s hand. “All those things you told me before…” 

“…are true,” Malcolm said. He ran his hand through Jamie’s hair. His fingers slid down the back of Jamie’s neck and then away. Malcolm stood up and stretched. He looked down at Jamie. “The only way they can identify me is to compare my DNA to my sister. They aren’t going to find me. The case will fuck off.” He left the room. The conversation was over. 

Jamie watched Malcolm go. He took a deep breath and got up from the bed to change his clothes.

**The End**


End file.
